She said nothing, she said nothing, she would say nothing until after she returned.
        Beyond the beyond.
        It was not a voice, exactly, but it was direction.
        It was, exactly, a price.
        Beyond the beyond 1 must venture beyond beyond.
        1 word, 2, what could encompass the exertion, the persistence, the fortitude the stalwart form assumed irregardless of hope.
        Hope was not mentioned.
        Hope was not required.
        Beyond beyond.
        Go there, Esme(e)'s voice within her head, her thought, her decision, suppose it were a choice? They were said to exist, though whether fashioned or fabled or burgeoning, cloudy, careless, ah well, it was the going which was significant, somehow mattered. To Esme(e).
        Could she make it happen? Did she? Or was she an actor merely, or duped, however gravid and protean prescience kept its cloak about it tightly sealed the seed the chime stilled  beyond beyond where nothing was and nothing meant to be that was the purpose of it and the going.
        Esme(e) ventured though in going it was only walking, walking, endlessly until all habitations, roads, rivers, mountains, forests and verdant vistas were behind and beyond was flatness and blankness and not quite silence and beyond was 1 step more.
        Esme(e) took a step.
        Tired, weary, booted feet and tested legs and lights and lungs Esme stepped once more and entered beyond beyond. Her boots stood upon it. Her mouth was dry. She stepped upon it, another, another, she walked upon it beyond beyond colorless, crackling, her mouth was dry in heat, in uncertainty for suspicioned she the where she walked was but a crust, friable, fickle, subject to bribes, whimsies, and false turns downward.
        Esme(e) walked on.
        Eyes dim with weariness Esme(e) went on with suitable persistence which was her way and her endeavor and her enduring. She did not question that. She understood that.
        That was given.
        And it was not law, but choice.